My parents' love story was legendary. General Catherine Thorne---decorated war hero. Dr. Julian Vane---world-renowned neurosurgeon. Mother's chest glittered with medals. One space remained empty. She'd sacrificed the highest honor to save Father from a conspiracy years ago. The elite private estate outside the city---The Vane Institute---was Mother's gift to him. So he'd feel safe. The day I was born, she summoned the entire honor guard to our gates. They played victory marches all night. People said I was the only proof their legendary love was real. When I turned five, a handsome man became a regular at our home. He was always by Mother's side. One day, he cornered me in the garden. Stroked the pony Mother had given me. His smile was gentle. And cruel. "You know your father's old, right? His hands shake too much to hold a scalpel anymore." "Only I can protect your mother's future. Soon, I'll be the master here." I didn't quite understand. But I told Father what he said. The next day, the news reported on that man. Former elite sniper Liam---permanent nerve damage to both hands. An 'accident.' Father was in his study, polishing his scalpel. The blade gleamed. He looked up at me, voice calm as glass. "Asher, I took out the trash for you. Do you like your gift?" - "Mother, when did you get back?" Her face was thunder-dark. Still in full uniform. Combat boots thudded against marble as she blew past me without a glance. Straight to Father's study. BANG. She kicked the door open. Father sat at his desk, methodically polishing a silver scalpel with a velvet cloth. "Julian! Was it you?" Her voice was ice shattering on concrete. Foreign. Cold. "Liam's hands are ruined! His entire life is destroyed! Do you understand how important he is to me? To the entire division?" Father raised his eyes. Those eyes that had saved countless lives. Now they held nothing. Not even boredom. "Trash in my way. I cleaned it up. Problem?" "You---" Mother's chest heaved. She ripped a black pistol from her hip. Aimed it at Father's head. "He's a genius! The division's top marksman! I pulled every string to transfer him to my unit, and you dare destroy him?" My legs went weak. I knew that gun. Mother's office wall displayed targets it had shredded. Perfect bullseyes. I threw myself between them, arms spread wide. "Don't you hurt him!" The fury in Mother's eyes flickered when she saw me. The barrel dipped. Father pulled me into his arms. His heart hammered, but his grip was iron. Then he laughed. Low and mocking. "So. Your protégé means more than your own son." Mother's face flushed red, then white. She holstered the weapon. But her eyes turned colder. "Catherine, you disappoint me." "Liam only admires me. He's done nothing wrong! You're the one who can't tolerate anyone!" "Starting today, he moves in. I'll personally care for him until he recovers." "You owe him this." She turned and left without another glance. This house is collapsing. The next day, Liam moved in.
Mother personally wheeled him through the door. The staff kept their heads down, barely breathing. He got the guest room next to my parents' bedroom. My favorite room---the one with the best light. Mother hired the best nurses. Twenty-four-hour care. She moved her office into his room. Said she needed to work while keeping him company. Overnight, the house belonged to Liam. He was a talented actor. When Mother was around, he slumped in his chair, weak and breathless. Eyes always red-rimmed. "Catherine, this is my fault. If I hadn't admired you so much, hadn't stayed so close, the doctor wouldn't have misunderstood." "My hands don't matter. As long as I can see you every day, I'm content." Mother looked at him with guilt. Tenderness. "Don't worry. I'll make him give you an answer." But the moment she left, Liam's eyes went venomous. He ordered the nurses to throw out all my limited-edition spacecraft models. "Five years old and playing with baby toys." He sneered, crooked a finger. "Come here." I didn't move. His eyes went ice-cold. "Tell Julian this is interest. His precious son belongs to me now." I ran crying to Father. He was in the greenhouse, trimming rose bushes. After I told him, he snipped an overgrown branch.Spoke softly. "Asher, don't cry." "Remember---when a rabid dog bites you, you don't kill it immediately." "First, you pull its teeth. Cut its claws. Make sure it can't bark or scratch." "Then, slowly, you watch it writhe in desperation." I didn't fully understand. But the hurt faded. That evening, doctors in white coats flooded the house. Mother's subordinates. Father's colleagues. Mother thought Father was surrendering. Her expression softened. She even spoke to him before dinner. At the table, Father raised his wine glass and stood. Smiled with practiced elegance. "I've gathered you all here today to bear witness." The dining room fell silent. Mother and Liam watched him. Liam's mouth held a hint of triumph. "Mr. Simth suffered permanent nerve damage from an 'accident.' As a physician, I'm deeply troubled." "Therefore, I've decided to provide all subsequent rehabilitation therapy free of charge. I'll mobilize every resource and personally assemble a recovery team until he... recovers." He emphasized the word 'recovers.' Mother's and Liam's faces changed instantly. Let the man who destroyed a sniper's hands personally administer 'rehabilitation therapy'? This wasn't treatment. This was slow torture with surgical precision. Father set down his glass. Crystal clinked against marble. He looked at Liam's pale face, smile growing warmer. Words turning the air frigid. "Mr. Simth, tomorrow morning, eight sharp at the rehabilitation center. Oh---the first treatment is high-intensity electrical nerve stimulation. Excellent for regeneration." "It might hurt a bit. Try to endure it." Mother nearly exploded. But the room was packed with military and medical elite. All of them sharks. She swallowed her rage. "Julian, you---" Father interrupted smoothly. "What? General Thorne doesn't trust my skills?" He paused. Eyes swept to the assembled doctors. Perfect smile. "Or do you think I'm settling a personal vendetta?" The air froze. Someone rushed to smooth things over. "Dr. Vane's expertise is world-class. We trust him completely." "Absolutely. Having Dr. Vane personally oversee rehabilitation---Mr. Simth is fortunate." "Indeed. General, you can rest easy." They nodded like the bobblehead toys in my room. Mother's face went black as her polished boots. She understood. Father was forcing her hand. In front of these people, she couldn't question her husband's expertise. Couldn't admit he was retaliating. That would mean airing dirty laundry, admitting she couldn't control her own household. For a decorated general, that was unbearable humiliation. Liam trembled in his wheelchair. Under the bandages, his hands seemed to throb. He glared at Father with poisonous hatred. "Julian, don't get cocky! Catherine won't let you get away with this!"
Father smiled. Walked to Liam. Looked down at him. Voice gentle as a doctor soothing a difficult patient. "Mr. Simth, relax. Stress hinders recovery." "The first step in nerve rehabilitation is electrical awakening therapy. Don't worry---I'll personally control the current intensity, ensuring precise stimulation of every damaged nerve ending. We'll monitor your pain threshold in real-time for optimal therapeutic effect." "The process might be... stimulating. But for recovery, you must endure." Liam's face drained of color. Electrical shock. Torture. I could picture him convulsing like a fish out of water. Mother finally snapped. Slammed the table. Plates jumped. "Enough! Julian, do you have to be this ruthless?" Father's smile vanished. He turned, cold eyes fixed on her. "I'm ruthless? Catherine, when you brought this man into our home, did you think about my feelings?" "When you pointed that gun at me, did you remember we're married?" "When you let him torment your son, did you remember you're a mother?" "You destroyed this family step by step. You destroyed everything between us!" His voice wasn't loud. But each word struck like a hammer. The dining room went silent as a tomb. Mother's lips moved. No sound came out. Her chest heaved violently. Father took my hand and walked away. "Asher, we're going home." This was our home. But he said it like we were leaving a cold hotel. After that night, Mother surrendered. She couldn't risk her career and reputation. Liam's 'rehabilitation therapy' was set. At the Institute Mother had gifted Father years ago. The next day, Father and I moved there. He said the house was too dirty. Needed deep disinfection. The Institute was beautiful, like a castle from a fairy tale. But every nurse and doctor bowed when they saw Father. Eyes full of reverence and fear. Liam's treatment room was at the corridor's end. Soundproof. I snuck a look once. Through thick observation glass, I saw Liam strapped to a table with leather restraints. Father wore a white coat, mask, and goggles. Eyes focused and cold. He held two metal probes, moving them slowly across Liam's arms. Each touch made Liam's body jerk violently. His throat produced sounds caught between screaming and whimpering. The noise scraped my eardrums like a cat's claws. Acidic. Painful. I ran back to my room and hid under the blankets, shaking. Mother came to see me once. She'd lost weight. Eyes bloodshot. Uniform wrinkled, reeking of smoke. She held me, voice hoarse as sandpaper. "Asher, I know your father was wronged." "But Liam... he doesn't deserve this." "Talk to your father. Tell him to stop. Liam's going to lose his mind." I looked up at her seriously. "Mother, do you still love him?" She froze. Her arms stiffened. She didn't answer for a long time. Just held me tighter. Chin resting on my head. "Asher, the adult world is complicated. You'll understand when you're older." I didn't understand. I only knew adults called their own failures 'complicated.' Liam's screams became the Institute's daily soundtrack. A month later, he was released. Emaciated beyond recognition. Eyes vacant. A puppet with its strings cut. He cowered at the sight of anyone, muttering constantly: "No more shocks... please... no more..." He'd lost his mind. When Mother came for him, she saw his state. This iron-willed woman's eyes turned blood-red. She didn't scream. Didn't rage. Just looked at Father. Eyes like a bottomless well. "Julian, you won." Father removed his glasses. Polished them slowly with velvet. Voice equally calm. "No. The war has just begun." Mother carried the broken Liam away. Back resolute. I thought it was over. I was wrong. Mother's retaliation came faster. Harder. She targeted what Father treasured most. Not his career. Not his reputation. Me.
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